Green
by Elbereth in April
Summary: If Narcissa Malfoy was Voldemort's right hand...if she ruled her son...if Draco had been told from the beginning, won over Harry Potter...if his life was lived for the Lady...
1. Default Chapter

Green  
  
By Elbereth in April  
  
Copyright 2003  
  
A/N: Things in between # symbols are memories that did not take place during First Year, as most of the story does.  
  
______ ______  
  
Chapter 1  
  
# For the first time in my life, I felt warm. Everything around me was blue and gold and green, and there was a rushing in my ears and head and chest, and I wondered if this was what joy felt like. There was a feeling of weightlessness as I sank, my body spread-eagled and falling beautifully. There was a long moment of bliss before black edged my vision and my eyes started to close. I had made my own decision--a rarity in itself--and for the first time ever, I would be free. Oh Lady, Lady, I would be free. . . #  
  
______ ________  
  
When I was young, I believe the only thing I truly wanted was for my mother to love me. My father, too, of course, but by the time I was seven, and he used the Cruciatus on me for the first time, I had given him up as lost to me. Not so my mother. Not yet.  
  
Mother was. . . aloof and mysterious, beautiful and charming, cold and unattainable, powerful and worthy of worship. I longed to be allowed to spend time with her. The few minutes that she would give me were like delightful dreams. I tried to be obedient and worthy of earning more.  
  
Obedience was always a priority.  
  
Meanwhile, my father had determined to bring me up with the goal of making me ready to be second under him to the Dark Lord, an unbreakable weapon for the war to come.  
  
It didn't matter that Voldemort was dead. They both seemed sure he'd return.  
  
So I was taught Dark Arts, and defense, and how to use strategy, how to spy, how to be charming, how to withstand torture and deprivation and imprisonment--as well as how to manage the Malfoy estates and continue to enrich the family's fortune, political influence, and status.  
  
Not all at once, naturally, but slowly, over the course of my childhood, I had these things inflicted into me.  
  
It was my mother who taught me the charming and spying parts, the summer before I went to Hogwarts, when I was eleven. I saw her every day that summer--that last idyllic summer of my childhood. That was as close as I ever came to being happy.  
  
_______ ______  
  
We all went together to Diagon Alley to pick up my school supplies. They liked us to be perceived as the perfect family unit. After we bought my eagle owl and my books, though, we split up. Father went to get my cauldron and other equipment and Mother took me for my robes and wand.  
  
As a witch was fitting me for my uniform, the door opened and a scraggly boy my age came in to get his own robes. Madam Malkin set him up next to me, and began measuring him.  
  
I decided to practice being charming. "You're for Hogwarts, too, are you?"  
  
He turned, looking surprised at being spoken to. "Yes."  
  
"What year are you?"  
  
He pushed up his glasses. "First."  
  
"Me, too."  
  
Mother languidly moved away from the wall and stood between us. "Where are your parents, dear?"  
  
He looked down. "They're dead." He swallowed.  
  
A strange feeling washed through my stomach. "I'm sorry," Mother and I said simultaneously. "I'm the Lady Malfoy," she continued. "This is my son, Draco."  
  
The boy gave an acknowledging nod. "I'm Harry Potter."  
  
Shock showed briefly on Madam Malkin's face, and the other woman's. Undoubtedly, I looked the same. Mother seemed unfazed; I wondered if she'd known all along.  
  
"*The* Harry Potter?" Madam breathed in awe. She draped some robe material over him and began to pin it up.  
  
He blushed a little. "Um, yes."  
  
Mother took a step forward and smiled at him. She'd never been more beautiful. And for one dark, terrifying moment, my chest constricted up so that I couldn't breathe, and air rushed through my ears as if I was riding on a broom, and I hated, absolutely *hated* Harry Potter, because she'd never smiled at me like that.  
  
"You've grown up so fast," Mother said to him. "Ready for Hogwarts! You and Draco both. I can't believe it! I suppose, you have friends already. . . to see you through while you're there?"  
  
"Well. . . I have Hagrid." He looked a bit confused.  
  
Mother raised her eyebrows. "Who?"  
  
"Hagrid. He's the Gamekeeper there."  
  
Mother looked incredulous. "The Gamekeeper?"  
  
Harry nodded and shifted, causing Madam to warn him of the pins.  
  
Mother laughed, a lovely, tinkling sort of laugh. "I mean real friends, Harry, not servants. Why, he can't even do magic! No, Harry, you need someone with influence in the wizarding world, someone who will help you to be great. Someone like Draco."  
  
She looked at me expectantly; it seemed to be my cue. "Of course, Potter." I smiled at him. "I'd be more than happy to. We'll be great friends, you'll see. The Malfoys are an old, pure-blood family. We're strong in magic. We'd be a good team."  
  
Harry seemed a bit overwhelmed by all these offers. He glanced at Madam Malkin, who smiled weakly. "Yes, everyone's heard of the Malfoys," she said.  
  
"You wouldn't want to start out being mixed up with the wrong sort," I continued. "Why, you'd be branded for life!" He didn't look very comfortable, so I changed the subject. If I blew this, she would kill me. "You play Quidditch?"  
  
"Um, no."  
  
Not play Quidditch? "Well. . . I'll teach you then."  
  
"Draco is quite good," Mother offered, and I felt a glow. "We fully expect him to make the team. Not this year, of course, First Years never do. But next year."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Movement out the window caught my attention. A huge bearded man was waving, despite carrying two large ice cream cones. I tilted my head towards him. "Who's that?"  
  
Harry brightened. "Oh, that's Hagrid!"  
  
"He looks rather uncouth," I blurted, unable to stop myself.  
  
Harry frowned. "He's a great man!"  
  
I floundered. "Well. . . first impressions can be deceiving."  
  
"All done, dear," proclaimed the witch who was fitting me. I looked down at her.  
  
Madam Malkin was just putting in the last of her pins, as well. "You're finished, too, Master Potter."  
  
Harry ran his hand though his hair, disarraying his bangs, and I saw the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. I drew in my breath at it.  
  
I wondered if he liked it showing, or if he didn't know any covering charms. All my scars were kept well hidden.  
  
Harry and Mother both paid Madam for the robes. "I'll just be going now then," Harry mumbled.  
  
"Well, do come to the party we're giving Draco in two weeks. It's his Sending Off to Hogwarts party."  
  
"Um, I'm afraid I won't be able to. I'll be very busy right up until I have to leave for Hogwarts."  
  
Mother looked very disappointed. "Oh, that's too bad."  
  
"Then I'll see you on the train, Potter. Owl me if you change your mind." I stared at him until he met my eyes.  
  
For a moment, we just looked at one another, then suddenly, he relaxed and smiled, a real smile. "Thanks. I'll look for you on the train."  
  
One more moment he held the stare and the smile, then he turned and left the shop. We watched him walk away with Hagrid, holding one of the ice creams.  
  
Mother put her hand on my shoulder. "Good job, Draco," she purred, her voice low and melodious. "Very good. Potter would be--an excellent asset. See that you gain his trust, and keep it."  
  
"Yes, Mother." I would do anything for her. Even gain her a boy to replace me, a boy I still felt brooding flashes of jealousy for.  
  
Famous, lightning bolt scar flaunting, Harry Potter.  
  
______ ______ 


	2. 2

Green  
  
By Elbereth in April  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Crabbe and Goyle were the first people I saw as I stepped aboard the Hogwarts Express. They gave me one of their stupid grins. "Hey, Malfoy!"  
  
"Hey." My trunk and owl had already been settled in one of the compartments. "Come on. Let's find our crowd."  
  
We walked slowly down the aisle, checking compartments as we passed. We stopped once to say hello to Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, more old, pure-blooded acquaintances of my family's.  
  
"Who are we searching for, Malfoy?" Goyle asked as we left them and continued on.  
  
"Dark haired boy with glasses and a scar on his head," I replied a bit curtly. But our progress slowed after that, as we kept running into people we knew, and had to stop and chat. Still, we found him eventually, alone in a compartment with a poor redheaded boy who had to be a Weasley. Just great. They were working their way through a pile of sweets.  
  
I opened the door and we entered their compartment. "Hello, Potter."  
  
He smiled. "Hello, Malfoy. I was waiting for you to turn up."  
  
The Weasley choked a bit. "You--you're friends with a Malfoy?"  
  
Potter gave him a puzzled look.  
  
"You're a Weasley, aren't you?" I couldn't help but sneer at him. I would have to try to lead unfortunate, misguided Potter away from him. "Ahem, Potter, do you remember when we were discussing the *right* sort and the *wrong* sort? I see you aren't aware which category Weasleys are in."  
  
The redhead scowled and bristled at me. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Who are they?" Potter interrupted, pointing.  
  
"Oh, that's Crabbe and that's Goyle." They were flanking either side of me, as was their habit when we were in the same place together.  
  
"And which sort are they?"  
  
This conversation was skewing off in the wrong direction, I could tell. He didn't like this right and wrong idea.  
  
His next words confirmed my thoughts. "I just wondered how one could tell which sort someone is. I usually do a pretty good job of judging people on my own, anyway."  
  
"Never mind then," I said quickly, searching for a way to change the subject. "Are you eating your way through the whole food cart? Chocolate frogs, Bertie's Beans, pumpkin pastries. hey, can I have a cauldron cake?"  
  
"What's the matter, *Malfoy?* No food of your own?" The Weasley scowled at me.  
  
"I'm afraid Crabbe and Goyle snitched most of it."  
  
Harry slowly handed me a cake.  
  
"Thanks," I said politely. I sat down without an invitation and unwrapped the cake. "So, which Weasley are you?"  
  
"My name is Ron." He was still scowling at me.  
  
I became even more calm and elegant. "Are you the youngest?"  
  
"The youngest boy. There's one more. My sister," he answered grudgingly.  
  
"Is that your rat?"  
  
"His name's Scabbers." He looked somewhat embarrassed. I would be, too, if I owned that ugly, flea-bitten vermin. It looked on the verge of croaking, too.  
  
"And is that your owl?" I asked Potter.  
  
He patted the cage. "Hedwig."  
  
"Mine's Jocunda."  
  
Crabbe looked at me. "Really?"  
  
I ignored him, as I was pondering. It was obvious to me by now that Potter didn't care about blood. He'd been raised by Muggles, so I'd heard, and he appeared to like them, and probably Mudbloods, too. He wasn't going to listen about that. But Mother considered me acquiring Potter's friendship to be some sort of coup--therefore, it had to happen.  
  
Father hated Weasleys. I tried not to sneer every time I looked at this one.  
  
I decided to continue just being polite and watchful. I had decided I would spend my year observing, mostly. Of course, I wouldn't take any insults, and my rank amongst the first years would need to be established, but I saw no reason to attract too much attention to myself. I'd leave that to Potter.  
  
The door to the compartment banged open. A long brown-haired girl stood there, regarding us with a bossy, superior sort of expression. "Has anyone seen Neville's toad?"  
  
Crabbe and Goyle burst out laughing. "A toad?"  
  
It hadn't been what I'd expected her to say, either, but still. "Sit down," I motioned the two boys. They did.  
  
"No toads," said Ron.  
  
A tearful looking boy peered around at us from behind the girl. "Are we interrupting anything?" he asked in a quavering voice, as if sensing the tension radiating between the Weasley and Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
"Not at all," I returned, favoring the girl with one of my most pleasing smiles, the one that charmed adults-other-than-my-parents as a baby, the one that made Parkinson give me her self-drawing crayons when I was 6, that made Zabini let me ride his racing broom what I was 9, but that had never yet won me anything from Mother.  
  
Fortunately, this girl was not immune. Her haughtiness melted quite a bit. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."  
  
For being bushy haired and buck toothed, she had a very winning smile herself. I believe it's what made Ron Weasley blurt out, "I know a spell to turn my rat yellow."  
  
"Do you? Let's see it then." She sat down, leaving the chubby kid standing in the doorway.  
  
Now Ron looked rather nervous, but he drew out a rather old, shabby-looking wand (Father always said the Weasleys had more kids than money). The boy cleared his throat.  
  
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." He waved the wand. Absolutely nothing happened.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle laughed again as Ron blushed deeply. Goyle poked at the rat with his wand, which promptly woke up and bit him. Goyle hollered and flicked the rat away. It hit the wall, slightly stunned, and Ron grabbed it up. "Scabbers!" he cried.  
  
I winced. Goyle yelled, "Your lousy, stupid rat bit me!"  
  
"Well, why were you poking at it?" Granger scowled at him.  
  
The boy by the door looked scared to death. "Maybe he killed my toad!"  
  
"No he didn't," Crabbe snapped. "I've been with him; I'd have seen."  
  
"Go away!" Ron shouted at Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
They frowned and looked at me. "Go buy yourself some more food or something," I ordered them.  
  
They stared at me, looked over at Harry, looked at each other, then me, then left.  
  
Ron's rat appeared to be unharmed. He petted it, then glared at me.  
  
I stared levelly back. But it was the girl who spoke. "I don't think that was a real spell."  
  
Weasley blushed again.  
  
"It's not very good, at any rate," she continued, and I couldn't stop my smirk. "I've tried a few spells, just for practice, and they've all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, so it was a surprise to get the letter, but I was very pleased."  
  
My smirk disappeared. She was a Mudblood. This couldn't get any worse.  
  
"You're actually advertising your Muggle roots?" I said before I could stop myself. But Father had ingrained it into me so many times: only pure-bloods mattered. And on the one hand, I wanted to ask him, "What does that make 90 % of the world then?" But. . . isn't that the way it is? Think of Qudditch. 90 % of the people who play Quidditch will never be good enough to go pro. And those 10 % who do will be further graded and divided, and their teams ranked, winners and losers, labeled, you're worthy, you're not, you're #1, and the rest of you are nothing, go away. So was this different? I couldn't make sense of it.  
  
But now they were all looking at me. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Nobody asked you to come in and criticize Weasley's spell," I said to take the focus back off me. Parkinson says I have an arrogant, undertoned way of saying things that she fiercely admires, and I heard it thick in my voice when I spoke, a casual sort of unthinking disdain, that implied you were a fool to argue with me, and I couldn't be wrong. "He's Weasley, by the way, you never bothered to ask."  
  
It was the girl's turn to blush. "Fine. And who are you?"  
  
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."  
  
The kid at the door let out a squeak. "I've heard of the Malfoys. Your dad's a Death Eater."  
  
I only got my wand half-way out before he'd turned and fled. I looked over at Granger. "Who was he?"  
  
She swallowed; I wondered what my eyes showed. "Um, Neville Longbottom. I just met him."  
  
"I hope somebody did eat his bloody toad." I sat back, feeling my heartbeat go back down, my blood start to feel cold again.  
  
Granger was obviously unhappy. "I've learned all our course books by heart. Do you think it will be enough? Can you do magic, Malfoy?"  
  
"A bit."  
  
"Show us," she commanded. A Mudblood was ordering me around.  
  
I looked at Potter, who'd been silent in the corner all this time. He seemed disturbed, too. "He's not really?" he asked when I met his eyes, as if it came spilling out without his wanting it to. "Your father's not a Death Eater?"  
  
"If he was, he'd be in Azkaban." I let my sleeve fall back and held up my wand, and pointed it at the locked train window. "Alohamora."  
  
The window opened itself quite readily. We heard the clack of the train wheels outside.  
  
"Very good," the girl smiled.  
  
But the Weasley was still regarding me with suspicion. "Yeah--your father claimed he was bewitched, wasn't that it?"  
  
The adrenaline was back. "Exactly what are you implying?"  
  
Our gazes locked. There was nothing else I could do. Could I have screamed, "Yes, he was a Death Eater, he still is, he loves the Dark Arts, he's been teaching me, he likes to demonstrate them *on* me!" I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to.  
  
And in the end, he shrugged and looked away first. "Nothing."  
  
The girl cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Do any of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I hear Dumbledore was in it! Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad, though, I suppose. . ." she trailed off, looking at us expectantly.  
  
"My brothers are all in Gryffindor," Weasley sighed, putting his wand away, not meeting my eyes. "Huh, I bet George knew that spell was a dud, he gave it to me." He sighed again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too, but I don't know if I'll be in it. Huh, imagine if they put me in Slytherin!"  
  
"That's the house Vol--You-Know-Who was in?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yeah." Ron nodded.  
  
"It's very unlikely. You're hardly Slytherin material," I sneered, but he took it as a compliment. "Don't you have, like, 12 brothers?" I couldn't help asking.  
  
"Five. And a little sister."  
  
"Wow," said Hermione. "I'm an only child."  
  
"Me, too."  
  
"Me, too. My cousin Dudley doesn't count."  
  
"Wow," Hermione said again, in a completely different tone. She'd finally noticed Potter's scar. "You're Harry Potter. I know all about you, of course--I got some extra books, for background reading, and you're in three of them."  
  
Potter looked quite dazed. "Am I?"  
  
"Goodness, don't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it were me."  
  
"Tell me," I cut in, "do you have aspirations to be a librarian?"  
  
She frowned, unsure if I was insulting her. She contented herself with saying to Ron and Harry, "You should be putting on your robes soon." (I was wearing mine already.)  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Weasley brushed her off. "So, what's your Quidditch team?"  
  
"Um, I don't know any. . ." Harry mumbled.  
  
Granger's expression turned bored. "I should really go make sure that boy's found his toad. We must be about there by now." And she stood up and bustled out.  
  
The three of us looked at each other. "Good grief," Harry said.  
  
"I hope she's not in whatever House I'm in," Ron grimaced. I laughed.  
  
"Anyway, Quidditch is the best game in the world, just wait," Ron enthused. He began to tell Potter all about the game, so of course, I threw in my own opinion and knowledge. We'd debriefed Potter pretty thoroughly by the time the train pulled in.  
  
We all stood on the platform, feeling a little nervous, though I was careful not to show it. A light came towards us then; it was that giant of a man, Hagrid. He was calling for first years to go with him. We did.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle turned up at my shoulder as we rounded the corner and saw Hogwarts for the first time. It was impressive, even for someone as used to castles and luxury as me.  
  
"Only four to a boat," Hagrid ordered, and I knew I was going to lose when Potter got in a boat with Weasley and Granger shoved after, and Crabbe and Goyle got in another boat and looked up at me patiently, and when I hesitated the briefest instant, that toad kid got in Harry's boat and that left me out. And none of them would be Slytherin, and I knew I would, Malfoys always were, and that would be that. It wasn't like I wanted to share a boat with a Mudblood and a Weasley and an idiot, but it would mean failure if I lost Potter, and I knew I would, and I hated him for it.  
  
"Oy there! Is this your toad?" Hagrid was yelling at the kid, and I got in the boat with Crabbe and Goyle and we all moved out over the water. 


	3. 3

Green  
  
By Elbereth in April  
  
Chapter 3  
  
A/N: A bit got left out somehow at the very beginning of Chapter 1. I re- posted that chapter, so go read it. It's only a paragraph, but pretty important.  
  
_________ _______  
  
Then we were inside Hogwarts and following one of the professors down the hall, and then we were standing at the front of the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted, and then my name was called.  
  
I walked forward and sat down on a stool while the teacher put an old battered hat on my head. It hardly hesitated, didn't even have to think about it. It just announced in a loud voice, "Slytherin!"  
  
Granger, Weasley, and Toad-boy were all put in Gryffindor. Most of my pure- blooded childhood acquaintances ended up in Slytherin.  
  
Then they called Potter forward. He sat down and had the hat put on him. It was too big and slid down over his eyes, making him look rather comical. It thought a long time in silence while my nails dug into my palms, under the table, where no one could see. Finally, it shouted, "Gryffindor!"  
  
He walked over to their table without once looking at us. So he believed all the rumors about how nasty and terrible we were. The worst part is I know it's all true. I didn't want to be in a House with most of them, either. But if I hadn't been made Slytherin, Father would have been furious.  
  
I glanced over at him a few times during the feast, but mostly I had to concentrate on my own situation. Slytherins believe in rank and status, and that had yet to be established here. Well, I intended to be at the top.  
  
I had Crabbe and Goyle on either side of me, and Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Zabini across from us. Down on one end, a guy I recognized as Marcus Flint was trying to terrorize a couple first years I didn't know. A ghost whose robes were stained with silver blood flew over and spoke briefly to the prefects. I heard him referred to as the Bloody Baron. "Why is he bloody then?" I asked an older student sitting next to Parkinson.  
  
"He won't say," she replied with a light shudder.  
  
"Does he have a real name? What was he Baron of?"  
  
"Don't know that, either. But the other ghosts all defer to him."  
  
I smiled. "Well, of course they do."  
  
It was as if he'd heard me, because he came to hover over my shoulder. "New first years, are you?" His voice was solemn and hushed, but I could imagine it raised in command. It was a voice made to be followed: confident, elegant--so much like my father's silky voice that I felt myself tense up and hold myself away from him.  
  
It was Bulstrode who answered. "Yes."  
  
"Well, I hope you live up to the reputation. We've won the House Cup six years in a row now. I'd hate to see this be the year we lose."  
  
"It won't be because of us!" Zabini exclaimed, looking indignant.  
  
The Headmaster stood up then and announced, "I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" That signaled the feast should begin.  
  
Food simply appeared on the plates in front of us, but I ignored it for a moment. "Father always said Dumbledore was an imbecile, but I thought he was exaggerating til now."  
  
"Indeed!" the whole Slytherin table was frowning. "What sort of speech was that? Hogwarts'll be the disgrace of the wizarding educational community."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle just ignored this and started piling their plates with food. I sighed. "Those people up there are our professors then?"  
  
"Yes," said the girl, who turned out to be a third year named Priscilla Horton. "That one there is Prof. Snape. He's Head of Slytherin House. And he teaches Potions. You'll like him--he detests Gryffindors."  
  
"Doesn't everybody," I mumbled.  
  
________ _________  
  
After the feast, they sent us all off to our common rooms to get settled in. I admit I was nervous. I'd never been around that many people all at once, and I knew they were judging and ranking and scheming. My stomach kept clenching up on me, but I didn't show it. I've gotten pretty good at showing what I want to project.  
  
No, that's not true. I can usually manage to *not* show what I really feel, but I often don't know what to show instead. I don't always know how I come across.  
  
"Blasé and arrogant," Parkinson told me once. But what does she know? She goes around looking like a stuck-up pug dog.  
  
_______ _______  
  
# "In order to produce a Patronus," he instructed me, "you have to think of a happy memory."  
  
I stared at him for a long moment. "A what?"  
  
"A happy memory."  
  
I had none. I thought and thought, and all that finally came to mind was the shimmering of blue and green and gold, and I almost lost it to hysterical, bitter laughter. Blue and green and gold, and that one moment when it almost all ended right.  
  
But it didn't. #  
  
_______ ______  
  
Marcus Flint was only a fifth year, but they said he was Quidditch Captain, so maybe that was why he had the central seat of honor in the Common Room. Some students had retreated to their dormitories, but the real political players were all out here.  
  
It was a long, low room in the dungeons with a large fireplace on one wall, with a lot of old, large furniture clustered around it. Flint sat like a king holding court in front of the fire, with the First Years hovering off along the far wall, among the study tables, watching.  
  
More of the Quidditch team was ranged on Flint's left: Pucey, Bletchley, Higgs. Then there was Selby, and Crumpton, and CuChalain--very old wizarding name, and Rahab Taltos, who was related to the Weasleys somehow, but everyone overlooked it because she was drop-dead gorgeous.  
  
Most of us here had at least some knowledge of who the others were, or who they must be. The old, pure-blooded families tended to frequent the same circles.  
  
And first year or not, I was a Malfoy, and I wasn't going to hang around the fringes, so I made my way through the crowd until I was leaning, arms crossed, by the fireplace.  
  
"Malfoy," Flint acknowledged me.  
  
"Flint," I returned. Selby gave me a nod, he knew all about my father (his mother was an Avery). My ace in the hole was Rahab, who had adored me ever since my mother brought me along visiting her mother, aged two.  
  
"Oh, Draco! What do you think of Hogwarts so far?" she cried with a smile.  
  
I smiled back. "The castle or the company?"  
  
"The company, of course."  
  
"Rahab, I could gush compliments at you all day."  
  
She laughed and stretched languidly, causing every boy to stare. Then she patted the sofa next to her. "Come sit by me."  
  
So I did.  
  
"And the hero, Harry Potter, landed in Gryffindor. Why am I not surprised?" Crumpton ranted.  
  
Two very large guys came pushing their way through the crowd then, to sit near Flint's right.  
  
"Here's our Beaters," Higgs grinned lazily.  
  
Derrick and Bole were their names. They crowded in between a girl called Mason and a girl named Reed. The others on Flint's right side shifted over, grumbling: Warrington, Montague, and Menagerie.  
  
Flint took Mason's hand, stroking her fingers. "Potter. He's going to be trouble."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle shoved their way to stand behind the couch, behind me. Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Zabini followed in their wake. A group of third and fourth years proceeded to subtly sound out and insult them. After all, they were only babies. Age should have some priority.  
  
I ignored it to concentrate on Flint. He wasn't very attractive. His eyes were too small and mean, for one thing. I wondered how easily he could be manipulated. Well, I would find out.  
  
________ _______  
  
Malfoy Manor is an old, wizarding castle, so I'm used to stone and surprises, but Hogwarts is something else again. Staircases move, Filch and That Cat lurk around, doors disappear. . . but I kind of liked it (except for Filch). And I had a handy charm that didn't keep me from getting lost, but did let me always be able to backtrack to where I started. Plus, I talked to the Bloody Baron, who I ran into quite a lot, and the people in the pictures (when no one was around to see).  
  
Classes were going to be interesting. I liked learning things; I always had, even if I didn't admit it. The only truly boring class was History of Magic, but Astronomy made up for it. Plus, DADA was rather a joke--I knew more already than what he was teaching us. But I had the suspicion that Quirrell knew a lot more Dark Arts than he was letting on. Just something about his eyes. He seemed to think I was a good student and always said hello to me in the halls, but I didn't like him.  
  
Since that first night, I had been considered among the in-crowd, but most of my time was spent with the other first years, who I had all my classes with. I had determined I had better try to find Potter and talk to him again, though.  
  
So I waited outside the Great Hall before lunch that first morning until he came along in a group of Gryffindors, four of them I was certain were Weasleys. I didn't see Granger.  
  
"Hello, Potter. Weasley."  
  
"Oh, hi, Malfoy." The Weasley would have kept walking, but Potter hesitated, then stopped. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine, and yourself?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
How stilted could you get? Next we'd be discussing the weather. "What classes have you had so far?"  
  
"Um, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts."  
  
"Ah. How was DADA?" At that point, I hadn't had it yet.  
  
"Not nearly as interesting as I thought it would be."  
  
The Weasley had come back and stood next to Harry again. "What about you?" I asked him, to be polite. "What did you think of DADA?"  
  
"The whole room smells like garlic! They say Quirrell is afraid of vampires."  
  
I half-smirked. "Really. Well, so far, I've had Charms and History of Magic, which, let me tell you, is *boring.*"  
  
"Great. We have it first thing tomorrow morning. I'll fall asleep for sure," Weasley moaned.  
  
Several Ravenclaws walked by us. I heard one loudly whisper, "That's him, Harry Potter!" and they all stared as they passed.  
  
Harry noticed, and grimaced. Hn. Could it be that he didn't *like* his celebrity status? I just assumed he would enjoy having everyone fawn all over him. "You seem to be quite popular," I said, feeling him out.  
  
He grimaced again. "They stare at me all the time. I wish they'd just leave me alone!"  
  
Ron patted him on the shoulder, looking sympathetic.  
  
"Try to make the best of it," I advised him, shrugging. "Rules will bend around you. Take advantage of it."  
  
They gave me odd looks that I couldn't read. "Harry, we need to go sit down before Fred and George eat all the food."  
  
Harry nodded at him. "Yeah." He looked back at me. "You like Slytherin House?"  
  
"Like is a strong word," I replied lightly, looking away.  
  
"Yeah. Well, see you around Malfoy."  
  
"Sure. Hey--tell Granger I said hello." He'd like that.  
  
He did. He smiled as Weasley led him away.  
  
"And tell Toad-boy to watch out," I murmured when they were out of earshot. "And by the way, Weasleys suck. You have poor taste, Potter."  
  
_______ ______  
  
That morning I had Transfiguration, which was enjoyable enough, except for the teacher. She tried not to let it influence her, I think, but she didn't like Slytherins. She would squint at me a lot, as if waiting for the word "Evil" to imprint itself on my forehead. It made me *want* to do something dreadfully wicked. I would have, if Toad-boy had been there.  
  
After class, we had a free period. Crabbe and Goyle and some freaky hulk of a kid named MacDougal went off to bully Hufflepuffs. I did some exploring. 


	4. 4

Green  
  
By Elbereth in April  
  
Chapter 4  
  
After class, we had a free period. Crabbe and Goyle and some freaky hulk of a kid named MacDougal went off to bully Hufflepuffs. I did some exploring.  
  
I slipped out of the dungeons and up a flight of stairs and through a secret passage Rahab had told me about. It was a long, dark, narrow corridor. "Lumos," I whispered, and the tip of my wand lit up. I walked down it quietly to the end and pressed a panel there. The wall moved aside and I exited behind a statue of a female centaur wearing a chain mail brazier. It made one wonder about the sculptor.  
  
Across from the statue was another staircase. I went up. I just wandered. Down a hallway that branched off in three directions; I chose left because I'm left-handed. Past about a dozen classrooms, one of which was in use, but the door was closed so I just hurried on by. Down a hall which dead- ended, so I backtracked and went a different way, through a door that a painting of a shepherd told me would open if I whistled "God Save the Queen."  
  
Through the door, turn left again, another staircase, up--carefully, because steps kept disappearing. Avoid the third floor corridor, right-hand side to avoid painful death--Dumbledore had told us that last night. So I headed left yet again, and I found another secret passage by pressing on the nose of a statue of what looked like a cross between an oversized Cornish pixie and a barn owl (I was having serious doubts about their interior decorator). The passage only went forward a few steps before it opened onto another set of stairs. I went up. The truth is, I've never liked dungeons, I've always gone for high places. Maybe that's one reason I like flying so much.  
  
This staircase was a stone spiral, and I heard a clicking noise up at the top every time I took a step. I never did find out why. But I kept going. When I reached the landing I had to figure out how to open the passage on the other side. I finally kicked the wall and that did it.  
  
I found myself facing a portrait of an older man with a goatee, wearing Headmaster's robes. He was holding a quill and a piece of parchment, staring off into space. He looked at me, surprised. "No one ever comes here," he said.  
  
I shrugged. "Here I am." I was in a long, dusty corridor. It was empty, just bare stone walls until it dead-ended down the way. Both ends were dark, but the middle was lit by sunlight streaming through the hall's one window. The window was huge--probably 8 feet across and at least 12 feet high, with a deep, recessed sill.  
  
"What's a rhyme for curiosity?" he asked me.  
  
"Animosity," I replied absently. "Who are you?"  
  
"Ezekiel Black. Born 1632, became Headmaster of Hogwarts in 1696, died 1789."  
  
"Black? My mother was a Black. You pureblood?"  
  
He regarded me, tapping his quill on the frame. "Yes. Your name, please?"  
  
"Draco Malfoy."  
  
His brows rose. "A Malfoy. I haven't seen one of those in a long time. My greatest rival at school was Nigel Lucius Malfoy the Third. He was the Gryffindor Seeker. I miss him, actually."  
  
"No Malfoy was ever a Gryffindor," I protested. "We're always Slytherin."  
  
He smiled. "No. *I* was Slytherin. As are you, I can see by your robes. Age, please."  
  
"Eleven. First year."  
  
"First year, first day! Well, well. And what brings you to this isolated place?"  
  
"Just exploring." I shrugged. "Why doesn't anyone come here?"  
  
"Nothing to do here. Just a hall from nowhere to nowhere, located through a secret door. What's the point, I wonder? They just put me here because I asked for a little peace and quiet so I could compose. I'm a writer, you see."  
  
"I figured. The whole rhyming thing." I started to drift down the corridor. "You sure there's no more hidden rooms or passages along here?"  
  
"None that were used during my tenure as Headmaster, anyway. And none I've seen in the 94 years I've been hanging here."  
  
Ninety-four years? I glanced back at him, then shook my head.  
  
"Lovely view, though!" he called.  
  
I stopped at the window and looked out. Yes, it was nice. It looked out over the lake, onto the pretty section of the Forbidden Forest--most of that woods is dark and gloomy, but one spot starts out as willows at the lake's edge, then goes back into maple for awhile, before picking up into ugly, forbidding trees. Yes, a good view. I knelt on the ledge and looked straight down. We were somewhere above the Great Hall, I thought, and a lot higher up than expected. Maybe the clicking staircase had something to do with that? I didn't know, but instead of the fourth floor, we were on more like the eighth.  
  
I sat down on the sill and let my mind wander for a long time.  
  
________ _______  
  
# I love flying. Father's never seen much use in it, but he lets me do it as a reward. Maybe he figures I need to have one normal "child's activity"-- in case anybody ever asks. Or maybe when I told him it would be a disgrace to the Malfoy name if the other kids could fly better than me, it got to him. Lady knows he believes it about everything else. Malfoys should be the best students, the best wizards, the best dressed, the best looking. . .  
  
Anyway, I spent as much time flying as I could. Sometimes, when everything would get to be. . . too much, I'd just hover above the Malfoy grounds, sitting on my broom, staring out and thinking, or trying not to think, and not to feel.  
  
This window reminded me of that. #  
  
_______ ________  
  
"Like it here, do you?" Ezekiel Black asked me as I passed him again eventually, when it was time to go to my next class.  
  
"I do," I admitted, almost hesitantly. "I'll be back."  
  
"Good." He smiled. "You're quiet. And you can rhyme."  
  
I smirked and left.  
  
_______ ______  
  
One of the first charms I learned was "Occulere," to cover up any flaws on your face or body. It's a beauty charm, actually, Mother had said, used mostly by ladies, but it was also used by mediwizards on people after accidents, and by Death Eaters to cover Dark Marks.  
  
In my case, I used it to cover scars. By the time I started school, I'd gotten so good at it that I only had to renew it every six days or so, but I would still check myself in bed every morning, before I opened the curtains.  
  
My second full day I woke up, completely alert as I'd been trained to be, to hear an owl tapping against the window. I scanned my arms--looked fine-- and got out of bed to see what was up. I opened the window and let him in.  
  
He had a little note attached to his leg, which turned out to be addressed to me, which I'd known as soon as I saw the owl. It was from Mother.  
  
"Dear Draco, How is dear Harry Potter? How is Professor Snape? What about the rest of your House? You are in Slytherin, aren't you? Write to me immediately."  
  
And it was signed, "Narcissa Malfoy."  
  
She was anxious for her reports, I guessed. So I sat down and wrote a reply, assuring her everything was fine and yes, I was in Slytherin, and sent it off.  
  
I found myself walking up to breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle, and Rhiannon Reed, Rahab's best friend. The two girls were fourth years, and Rhiannon was fairly pretty herself, with short blonde hair and a ready smile.  
  
"What are you boys up to today?" she asked with her usual boundless energy.  
  
"Herbology," I answered. "Gardening for wizards."  
  
"Ah--I don't much care for it, either." She brushed back one of her long, dangling snake ear-rings. They were green, and every so often one would flick out a long-forked silver tongue.  
  
"What do you like?" I asked.  
  
"Charms."  
  
"Charms for the charming."  
  
She laughed. "And you?"  
  
"Well, I haven't tried it all yet, have I? But we have Astronomy tonight and I'm expecting to enjoy that. I have a constellation named after me, you know."  
  
"Oh, after you?"  
  
"Well, I'm sure they had me in mind." I grinned at her, and she grinned back.  
  
"Rahab told me I'd like you and she was right."  
  
I barely beat down a blush. "Oh, um, thanks." I hadn't expected her to say that. It made me feel. . . warm. For a little while.  
  
______ _______  
  
That second day I coasted by. After lunch, I made another try to talk to Potter. This proved to be more successful, as we stuck to discussing Quidditch, and I told him I'd lend him my copy of "Quidditch Through the Ages," a great little book. I sent it to him later by owl, along with a signed picture of one of my favorite teams, the Montrose Magpies, that I had an extra of. I thought he'd like that.  
  
I did homework, prowled the grounds, hung out with the first years, talked to Rahab, sat in on Flint's Quidditch organizational meeting, longed for my own broomstick, and went to Astronomy later that night.  
  
"There it is." I aligned my telescope just right and showed Crabbe and Goyle. "Draco."  
  
They both looked. Crabbe gave me a grin.  
  
"It's in Slytherin silver, too," Goyle said, which made me laugh.  
  
I was right; I would enjoy Astronomy.  
  
Afterwards, the three of us trooped back to the dungeons, with Zabini and some kid named MacDougal behind us, and Pansy and Bulstrode in front. The other first year girl, who I hadn't known previously, had tried to be friends with them during class, but they kept leaving her out, and now she fell back from walking with them, to us.  
  
I glanced over at her. "Broadmoor, right?"  
  
Her face lit up. "Yes! Nokanda! And you're Malfoy, of course."  
  
"Of course." If I hadn't been in a good, flowing sort of mood, I probably wouldn't have talked to her, to be honest. To be honest, strange girls make me a little nervous. If I've known them forever, like Pansy or Rahab, it's different, but you never know with strangers. Rhiannon that morning had been bad enough, but she had pressed the conversation herself and. . . she was older, it was more complicated, and this girl. . . I don't even know what I'm saying. Anyway, I talked to her.  
  
Nokanda Broadmoor is small--smallest person in school, has dimples, black hair cut short to fall around her face, eyes brown like cocoa, like melted chocolate, like--I was laying in the grass once, and this moth landed on a twig next to me, and I could hardly stop my hand from reaching out to touch it, it looked so soft and velvety and *warm.* And as soon as I realized I was finding clichéd descriptions for her eyes, I stopped talking. Infinitely preferable was Rahab or Rhiannon, older, worshipped, untouchable, and infinitely, infinitely safer.  
  
Of course, this is remembering back to myself three years ago. I wasn't that aware of my feelings at the time--I was only 11, not really interested in girls yet. What *was* I thinking then, exactly? So hard to say now. With all that's happened since that time. . . all the emotions churning and spinning. . .  
  
Flashing and drowning. . .  
  
Blue and green and black and gold. . .  
  
________ ________  
  
"Of course," I said, haughtily, if I recall.  
  
"Have you seen the Falmouth Falcons play?"  
  
I shrugged.  
  
"I thought girls liked the Holyhead Harpies," Goyle put in suddenly.  
  
"Well, naturally," she turned to him with that eager smile. "They are the only all-female team! But I have ties with the Falcons. Both my uncles played for them."  
  
Zabini and MacDougal came up to flank us. "Don't tell me your uncles are Kevin and Karl Broadmoor?"  
  
She nodded cheerfully.  
  
"The Broadmoor Brothers who were suspended from Quidditch 14 times for excessive, predetermined, and enjoying-it-far-too-much violence?"  
  
"The Broadmoor Beaters whose motto was, 'If we can't win, at least let's break a few heads?'"  
  
"That's them!"  
  
Crabbe, Goyle, and MacDougal started laughing. "Cool!"  
  
"How very Slytherin," Zabini muttered.  
  
Of course, Pansy and Bulstrode were feeling left out by now, and dropped back to walk with us, too. So now we were one big first year clump.  
  
"Aren't the Broadmoors distantly related to the Crabbes somehow?"  
  
The two mentioned descendants screwed up their faces, thinking.  
  
"I wouldn't doubt it. All the old, purest-blood families are interwoven somehow." I shrugged. "My mom's a Black, but a little further back she was a Malfoy. So when she says to carry out the Malfoy Family name, she really means it." She had, in fact, disassociated herself with the Blacks as much as possible, now that the remaining Blacks were her and Sirius--locked up in Azkaban. Who could blame her? Although--she had no problem with her ties to LeStrange--also in Azkaban.  
  
Thinking about it too much made my head hurt.  
  
"Carry on the Family name," Pansy intoned dramatically, then gave a long- suffering sigh. "Who else has to put up with that?"  
  
We all raised our hands.  
  
"It's tough being a pureblood," said Zabini.  
  
"Unless you're a traitor like Weasley," Goyle sneered.  
  
I smirked. "You're still mad about the rat."  
  
Crabbe snickered. Goyle flushed and scowled.  
  
The others sensed a story. "What rat?" Mac demanded.  
  
"Weasley's pet rat bit him, on the train here," I explained.  
  
Goyle glared at me. "If I didn't tell them, Crabbe would have," I protested.  
  
"Yep!" Crabbe grinned and slapped Goyle on the shoulder.  
  
"Who has a pet *rat,* anyway?" Pansy sneered.  
  
"Inherited, yet. Blood-traitors and paupers to boot," Millicent sniffed.  
  
"I don't suppose a pregnancy prevention potion occurred to them. If they hadn't bred like rabbits, they might have a few more Knuts."  
  
"Maybe his nuts were the problem," Mac suggested with a leer.  
  
"What?" Nokanda frowned innocently, not getting it.  
  
And then we rounded the corner and practically bumped into Potter and Weasley, who was scarlet in the face and holding his wand, and who had obviously heard most of the conversation. Potter had his hand on Ron's arm, trying to convince him to stay calm and not get in a fight with--well, 1/7th of Slytherin.  
  
I swallowed, and my eyes unwillingly met Harry's, and his went blank and hard and looked away from me as if I was nothing, less than worthless, dung on a fly's leg.  
  
It hurt far more than I'd thought it would.  
  
"Speak of the devil," Zabini drawled.  
  
"He's as red as one, anyway," someone said, and I realized with great shock, that it had been me. The others laughed as my stomach twisted up in knots.  
  
"*Shut-Up,*" Ron snarled, voice shaking so much with fury his words were barely intelligible.  
  
"Or what?" Mac cracked his knuckles.  
  
"Or--or. . ." But it was clearly 8 to 2, and everyone knows how evil Slytherins are, obviously none of us would've hesitated to hex him into next week, even though Weasley and Mac were, in fact, the only ones with wands drawn. But Gryffindors are born thinking the worst about us, and at that point I could hardly deny any of it; they had heard our insults; we were caught in the act.  
  
"Come on, Ron, let's just go," Potter tried to reason with him. "Don't stoop to their level."  
  
"Yes, just ignore us and maybe you'll go away." Darn it, that was me again.  
  
"Isn't it usually 'ignore us and *we'll * go away'?" Pansy asked.  
  
"Why should *we* go anywhere?" I retorted.  
  
Potter just *looked* at me while I grew colder and colder. "Come on, Ron, they're arrogant, malicious jerks. Let's go. Just leave it!"  
  
"Hey!" Crabbe exclaimed, "Watch your mouth!"  
  
"Yeah!" Goyle agreed, taking a menacing step forward.  
  
"Hold off," I muttered, and confused, they did. The two Gryffindors slunk away and we walked on to the dungeons.  
  
"What were they doing up at this hour anyway, wandering around the castle? I'm reporting them to Snape!" Broadmoor declared indignantly.  
  
Potter would never speak to me again, and Mother. . . Mother would. . . what? Punish me? Go back to ignoring me? Pursue him herself, and smile at him instead of me? I realized suddenly that my hands were clenched up into fists, and shaking. I relaxed them, but they kept shaking. I kept them hidden in my sleeves.  
  
Forgive me, Mother. I've never been other than a failure.  
  
________ _________ 


	5. 5

Green  
  
By Elbereth in April  
  
Chapter 5  
  
My book was thrown at me at breakfast the next day, as Potter passed by on the way to his own table. I didn't know what to say to make things better. So I said nothing. Neither did he.  
  
We spent the rest of the week pretending we didn't know each other, unless our eyes accidentally met, and then they would turn arrogant, hard, and cold. Every time I looked at him now I felt myself tense, my face go blank, my eyes narrow. I hated him for hating me and making me hate him. I wondered if there was any way we could make up and be friends.  
  
But the rest of my life was going fine. Zabini was actually quite an interesting guy, and I'd always gotten along with Pansy. Flint still gave me approving glances, and Rahab tried to ruffle my hair and give me advice about professors, and Rhiannon would wink at me before going to gossip with Taltos and Higgs.  
  
And I went to Charms, and DADA, and Care of Magical Creatures, and then Friday rolled around, and we had Double Potions with Gryffindor. I woke up that morning, and my blood seemed frozen, as if I had a chill. It was strange, I thought.  
  
I went back to watching. Observing everything around me. I spent most of that day in the shadows, eyes open, mouth closed.  
  
I walked back to class with Crabbe and Goyle. I was used to them; they made me feel better. I sat near the front. I wouldn't let Gryffindors make me dislike this class. I had high expectations of it.  
  
I refused to let the moment when Potter entered the room, with Granger and Weasley, make me flinch. I would be stoic, undaunted. I would not react. Except when Weasley looked over and glared with true hatred, I couldn't resist a superior half-smirk that nearly drove him wild.  
  
He didn't get a chance to react, though, as Snape entered then. We all quieted instantly. Everybody respected Snape. I admired that.  
  
He started out by calling roll, and when he got to Potter's name, he said, "Ah yes. Our new *celebrity.*" And it was quite apparent in just that one word--at least, to me--that he despised--no, loathed--no, he *hated* Harry Potter. I wondered why.  
  
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape told us. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death--if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."  
  
The room was silent. My mind was racing.  
  
I understood what he meant exactly. Mother loved Potions. Sometimes when I was young, I would sneak up to the door of her study, which I wasn't allowed into, and open the door just the barest of cracks so I could watch her, stirring the cauldron, adding the powdered fangorn root, the porcupine quills, the hazy fumes rising off the cauldron, the rich, heady, dizzying smell, until I didn't know if it was the potion that was making me dizzy or just being near Her, Mother, the greatest witch who ever lived, creeping through my mind, ensnaring my senses. . .  
  
I shivered involuntarily, one heaving shudder. Brew glory and stopper death- -could I? Would it please her, if I knew? Or was I--one of the dunderheads? Would I fail at this, too?  
  
I would not, please the Lady. I had already devoured my textbook. That and the one for DADA were the only ones I had--like Granger--committed to memory. I was ready.  
  
But then Snape started in on Potter. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" he demanded of him, and him alone, ignoring Granger, whose hand had shot up.  
  
Potter shifter a little in his seat. "I don't know, sir."  
  
Snape sneered at him. "Fame clearly isn't everything," he pronounced very distinctly. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"  
  
Granger's hand went up again. Around me, I could see the other Slytherins laughing. Harry looked down. "I don't know, sir."  
  
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"  
  
Harry looked back up, meeting Snape's dark eyes. They each tried to stare down the other. No use, Potter, I thought to him. He's a Professor, they always win.  
  
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"  
  
That girl's going to fall off her chair waving her arm around like that, I thought. And once again I was astounded to hear myself speaking. "They're the same thing, sir. Also known as aconite."  
  
Snape whipped around, looking to scold a Gryffindor, before realizing it was me. His mouth turned up the slightest bit at the corners. "Correct, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin. Potter--that's five points from Gryffindor for your ignorance."  
  
He flushed. I smiled brightly at Snape. "For your information, Potter," he said, speaking to the class at large, "asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it's known as the Draught of Living Death. And a bezoar is a stone from the stomach of a goat that will save you from most poisons. Well? Why aren't you copying any of this down?"  
  
We grabbed for our quills then.  
  
After that, the professor set us to concocting a simple potion. He stalked around the classroom, long black cloak flaring behind him, and I couldn't help thinking, I need to get me one of those.  
  
He inspected everyone's work, with many a pointed criticism, but when he came to me, he would mellow. "Good job crushing your snake fangs," he said once. And, "How are your parents?" softly when everyone around us was busy. Towards the end of class, he actually pointed out to everyone how I had stewed my horned slugs. It was hard to contain how proud I felt. A smile almost burst from me, but I kept it back somehow. But it was a great moment. . . brew glory, indeed!  
  
Just then, Toad-boy's cauldron started smoking green and hissing. The potion melted through the cauldron and dripped to the floor, running downhill, eating into whatever it touched. We all yelped and jumped on our chairs. Toad-boy sprang up in nasty, painful-looking boils and I gloated. Served him right--insulting my father!  
  
"Idiot boy!" Snape scolded him, and I agreed.  
  
"He's a moron," I whispered to Crabbe and Goyle, who grinned and nodded. "What a loser."  
  
"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape ordered his partner. Then he turned his fury on Potter and the Weasel. "Why didn't you tell him not to add quills over the fire? Thought you'd look good if he got it wrong? Another point off Gryffindor!"  
  
I thought Snape's accusation was unlikely. It could actually get annoying if our professor spent half of every class yelling at Potter. I gave Harry a sympathetic look, but he ignored me completely, whispering to Weasley. I scowled and went back to my potion.  
  
I couldn't wait to owl Mother and tell her how much Snape seemed to like me and my work.  
  
________ ________  
  
After class, I took my daring in hand and asked Prof. Snape if there was anything he'd like to tell my parents when I sent an owl home that afternoon.  
  
He sort of smiled at me--I don't think he can smile more than that--and said to tell my mother he was sure I would turn out to be as good at potions as she was and that I was off to a good start. I almost skipped back to my room.  
  
_______ _______  
  
It was a good letter for me. It said all good things, praiseworthy things. About my classes, my new friends, my observations about Potter and Snape and the people in Slytherin, about Potions.  
  
And then, just as I was getting ready to sign it, I broke down and added this: "I do have one problem I could use some advice about. Potter and Weasley accidentally overheard a group of Slytherins I was with insulting Weasley and his family. Potter has become attached to Weasley as a fellow Gryffindor, who unfortunately has a lot more contact with Potter than I do. Therefore, Potter is angry with me for inadvertently insulting his friend. What should I do?"  
  
The reply came promptly and I sent Harry another owl after I read it.  
  
"Dear Potter, I know you're mad about what was said regarding Weasley the other night. But can't we still be friends, you and I? So we'll have a few differences in opinion. Friends do. And you'll have two friends who aren't that crazy about each other. That's pretty common, too. I still think we'd be a good team. Let me know."  
  
I didn't get an answer until lunch the next day. Potter stopped me just outside the entrance to the Great Hall. "Malfoy. Can I talk to you a minute? Alone?"  
  
So we abandoned our other friends and went off down the passage a ways to speak unheard. "I got your owl," he began.  
  
My heart was beating fast and hard. "What do you think?"  
  
"Look, it's--it's not that. . ." he grimaced. "I can't be friends with someone who so deliberately hurts other people's feelings."  
  
My eyes widened. "You heard what he said about my father on the train."  
  
Harry blinked. "Yes."  
  
"So why aren't you giving him this little lecture?"  
  
Harry groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "Maybe. . . maybe we could just start this all over."  
  
"Huh?" was my eloquent response.  
  
"Forget the past. Start again here. Hi. I'm Harry Potter."  
  
He was perfectly serious. "Um, OK, hi, I'm Draco Malfoy, nice to meet you."  
  
"I hear you like the Montrose Magpies."  
  
I quirked a smile. "They're top-ranked. Although I confess to having another favorite, the Caerphilly Caterpaults. I am a good Welshman, after all."  
  
"Are you? Welsh, I mean."  
  
"Yes. You?"  
  
"Straight Brit, I believe, as English as they come."  
  
An awkward silence fell. "What else do you like to do?" he asked after a long moment of me wondering where all my charm had disappeared to.  
  
"Well. . . flying. I like flying."  
  
"I haven't tried it yet." He sighed. "I want to! Everybody's talking about it. We have flying lessons starting up next week, you know. But that's forever."  
  
I grinned, a pleased cocky smile. "I could teach you before then. All we need's the brooms."  
  
Potter looked completely startled, then strongly tempted. "We'd get caught."  
  
"Slytherin Quidditch team has practice tonight. The broom shed will be open. I can get two brooms out, easy. We sneak out behind Hagrid's hut. As long as we don't go too high, we'll be fine." I couldn't believe I was even suggesting this; normally I followed authority. But I *had* to win Potter back. Mother was counting on me.  
  
"OK," he said at last. "What time?"  
  
________ ________  
  
I got the brooms out at 8:00, just as the Slytherin team was going back to the dungeons. They were arguing about who to appoint as their third Chaser. The one from last year had graduated, leaving a spot open.  
  
"I say we ask Montague," Pucey said firmly.  
  
"He's too slow. What about Warrington?" Higgs suggested.  
  
"He's too reckless. We need somebody with brains. How about Selby?"  
  
"He'll foul everybody."  
  
I listened to their voices fade away into the distance and looked at the brooms I'd snagged. Clean Sweeps. Adequate. Nothing like the Nimbus 2000 I'd been eyeing in Diagon Alley, but. . . these would do. I'd use a stick if it would get me up in the air again. I missed it.  
  
I'd spent the afternoon up in my window--I hadn't told anyone about it and I didn't plan to. It was going to be my secret place. All last night, when I'd roamed the Common Room--I don't sleep well, or a lot--and again this afternoon, my thoughts had been on flying. Of course, last night I had been reminiscing on past flights, and this afternoon I was anticipating ones to come.  
  
I hoped I didn't do anything else wrong. I didn't know how to act around Harry Potter, that was the bottom line, dismal truth. I didn't understand him. But I could tell a person who is meant to fly, and he was, so I figured this. . .  
  
I'm not sure what I was hoping for.  
  
Father says, never get too close to anybody, because in the end, they will always betray you for personal gain. Emotions are a weakness. All feelings must be crushed, for they can be used against you. They can only get in your way. Feel nothing, love no one.  
  
And I've found no way to argue with that.  
  
______ ________  
  
I sat in the grass behind the broom shed and waited. I recited potion ingredients in my mind to pass the time, and to distract myself from what I was feeling, which was mainly nausea.  
  
At 8:30, Potter turned up as promised and I grinned before I could stop myself. "Hey."  
  
"Hey." He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to keep the bangs out of his eyes. Didn't work.  
  
I handed him a broom. "Are you ready?"  
  
"Yes!" He nodded emphatically.  
  
"Good." We exchanged smiles, then walked farther back into the fields, back past the gamekeeper's hut, almost to the forest, where (hopefully) we'd be safe from prying eyes.  
  
"OK," I instructed. "Lay the broom on the ground. Right. Now you say up!" The broom flew into my hand.  
  
Harry looked at his broom. He held his hand out. "Up!" he commanded, and it came. He looked thrilled.  
  
"All right. It's hovering now, see?" I let go of the broom and it floated in the air before me. "Push it down to the right height. You want it about there, so you can mount it. Like this."  
  
We both got on our brooms. "Now, basically, you just grip with your hands-- uh huh--and your knees--knees are important. And you just push off with your feet. We won't go up very high, OK? Ready?"  
  
Potter was flushed with excitement--partly the flying and partly the secret, after-hours adventure. "Ready!"  
  
"OK, here we go then!" I shoved off, rising into the air, and Potter did the same. We leveled out at about 6 feet. "Potter, you're a natural," I marveled. "Got your balance?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm fine. This is great!" He was smiling so wide, his face was practically beaming. "It's like--I instinctually know what to do."  
  
"And here I thought it was my great teaching," I teased.  
  
He laughed. "Higher!"  
  
I took stock of our position relative to the castle. "We can probably risk a little more," I decided.  
  
We went up to 10 feet. "Now we coast," I said, and shot forward, not too fast. He flew parallel beside me. He did seem to know exactly what to do. I had been like that, as well, my first time on a broom, but I knew it wasn't usual. Flying wasn't that easy for most people. For a moment, I wondered if I should be jealous, but I couldn't really see the point.  
  
Then, "Race you to the tree," he said, and took off.  
  
I smirked and pursued. He had a small head start, and I gained some back, but he still beat me there. "Hn. Race you to that tree," I drawled, and we were off again.  
  
There's nothing like flying. Wind in your face, hair blowing back--well, actually, it stuck to my head, pretty well gelled, but at home I leave it loose and then it does, ground racing below you, deep sky above. You could fall into the sky and drown sometimes, it's so blue.  
  
"It's black in places," Potter said, startling me. How much of that had I said out loud?  
  
"Well, yeah, now it is," I responded awkwardly.  
  
"You're right, though, this is awesome. I love flying!"  
  
"Me, too." I watched him for a moment. "Now you just need to learn how to play Quidditch. But I think we'll wait for daylight for that."  
  
"Yeah, can you teach me that, too?" He looked at me eagerly.  
  
I smiled, satisfied. "Of course. We can do it tomorrow."  
  
There you go, Mother.  
  
But I found to my surprise, I was also doing this for me.  
  
_______ _____  
  
A/N: Thanks to my reviewers! You're great! 


	6. 6

Green  
  
By Elbereth in April  
  
Chapter 6  
  
The next morning I got a package from home--cookies. Apparently they were a reward for my success last night--I had owled home before I went to bed, flushed with satisfaction and wanting to tell someone.  
  
The note from Mother read, "You will become accomplished at strategy yet." I took it for praise, smiled much wider than normal, and offered my friends cookies, because they were eyeing them greedily and it seemed like the wisest move.  
  
It was the weekend, so no classes, but plenty of homework. Zabini asked me if I wanted to go to the library and study with him, as he liked to get that out of the way first thing, and then have the rest of his time free to enjoy himself. As I did too, I readily agreed.  
  
"Not me," Goyle said immediately. "I'm going to put it off as long as possible." Crabbe nodded emphatically, and Pansy and Millicent agreed.  
  
"Can I come?" Broadmoor asked timidly.  
  
Zabini and I looked at each other. He hesitated ever so briefly, then, "I guess so."  
  
Which is how I found myself in the library after breakfast, at a little round table next to one occupied by a solitary Hermione Granger.  
  
"This place is deserted," I protested. "Why are we sitting right next to her?"  
  
"To annoy her," Zabini shrugged.  
  
"In case we went to copy?" Broadmoor put in, smiling.  
  
I sighed. "You're both silly."  
  
Broadmoor stuck her tongue out at me, and Zabini grinned.  
  
So we started our homework. Annoying the Gryffindor began soon after. First were the frequent superior glances over at her. Then came the loud, snide remarks about magic users with impure blood, who didn't know their place. Then more personal comments about prissy, boot-licking students who always raised their hand in class, just to attract attention to themselves, and who were nerdy enough to memorize all their textbooks, as if that could make them better liked.  
  
She was sitting there fuming now, pressing her quill down so hard on her parchment it almost ripped through, but determined not to move since she had been there first, determined to ignore us so we couldn't win.  
  
It was about that time that Toad-boy walked in.  
  
Now I had, in all honesty, only voiced one insult since we'd been there-- the one about memorizing her books--mostly it had been Zabini. But I detest Toad-boy.  
  
"It's another one of Gryffindor's losers," I sneered. "I think our magic level could go down just by being in the same room with him."  
  
"I'm going to sit as far away from him in Potions as possible," Broadmoor said seriously. "I bet his cauldron explodes every day. He just screams incompetence. It only takes one look at him to see that."  
  
"And he lives with his grandmother. He's scared of her," Blaise laughed.  
  
Toad-boy had stopped, frozen in place, as we started tearing into him. He looked over at us, wide-eyed.  
  
"Look at him now. I bet he messes his trousers," Zabini pointed.  
  
Granger abruptly stood up, chair sliding back with a sound of abused, scraping wood. "Leave him alone!" she declared, face flushed, hands on hips.  
  
"I heard her parents are dentists," Broadmoor told us. "But look at her teeth."  
  
She flushed deeper and stepped forward, but the librarian was finally heading over to tell us to shut up or else. Granger gathered up her books in a huff, at last giving into the urge to stalk away. "Come on, Neville," she said through gritted teeth. "We'll come back later."  
  
"Yeah, take him with you. He's as unpopular as you are. Maybe you should stick together; no one else would want you," Nokanda called after them.  
  
"Really, Miss Broadmoor, I won't tell you to be quiet again!"  
  
"Sorry, Madam Pince, we'll behave now."

--------------------------------  
  
I met Potter right after lunch. He looked a little uneasy. "What did you say to Hermione Granger?"  
  
"That knowing all her books off by heart won't make her more liked. And I didn't say it to her. I said it to Zabini. She overheard."  
  
He gave me a look. "Oh, all right. I meant for her to overhear, unlike with Weasley, where I really didn't know he was there. But come on, can you deny Granger is annoying?  
  
He half-smiled, then sighed. "No, I can't. Ron doesn't like me hanging out with you at all, by the way."  
  
"Of course not. Our families have hated each other for years."  
  
"Oh? Why?"  
  
I waved my hand. "Just politics between our fathers, passed down to us. They didn't like each other in school, either. They were in the same year, you know."  
  
"I didn't know." He looked pensive. "Your mother is certainly nice."  
  
"Yes," I said, face completely blank.  
  
We sat down in the middle of the Quidditch field. I had brought along a copy of _The Everything Quidditch Encyclopaedia._ I opened it up, turning to the pages that showed pictures of the different balls. I pointed out the Quaffle, the Bludgers, and the Snitch.  
  
"How much do you remember of our talk from the train?"  
  
"I remember the positions--and the basic rules..."  
  
So I taught him about Quidditch. I showed him the goal hoops, and described how each position was usually played, and we went up to the top row of the stands and looked down on the pitch, and from there I told him to imagine being up higher yet and looking for a gold ball the size of a walnut with wings.  
  
He laughed. "It sounds very complicated."  
  
"Not really... if you're a Seeker, you ignore everything else but searching for the snitch. Well, and keeping half an eye on the bludgers. It wouldn't do to be struck off your broom! You know the game doesn't end until the snitch is caught. It could go on for days, if necessary."  
  
"I think I'd like playing Quidditch," he decided with a smile and a sigh.  
  
"Me, too. Well, next year, mate. First years never get picked for teams."  
  
We came back inside when it was time for dinner. Weasley was waiting for Potter outside the Great Hall, a nasty scowl on his face.  
  
"Hey, Weasley," I greeted him. "Let it go, right? I'll be decent to you if you are to me."  
  
"Are you capable of being decent?" Weasley spat at me.  
  
"As I said, if you are. You do have a volatile temper." I gave him a calm, somewhat amused gaze.  
  
"You're so bloody arrogant," he hissed.  
  
"You're so bloody red all over," I contented myself with.  
  
"Guys!" Potter stepped in between us. "Just leave it. I'll see you later, Malfoy."  
  
"Later, Potter."  
  
He and Weasley walked away. I stared after Ron with narrowed eyes, then went and ate.

----------------------------------  
  
Time moved on. In Slytherin House, the students were still jockeying for position. A couple seventh years wanted to dethrone Flint, just because he was fifth year, and too young to be King. Then a beautiful sixth year with amazing dark hair and eyes tried to lure Flint to her bed, but his current girlfriend, Jacynth Mason, hit her with a nasty hex that made ugly boils break out all over her face, making Flint lose interest. She also gave Flint a nasty laxative potion in his pumpkin juice, but he never found out it was her. Rahab told me.  
  
I went to class, I did my homework, I spent time with the first years, all of whom I'd effectively cowed, I cosied up to Flint as necessary, started the work of winning over the second years, watched everything, met up with Potter two different nights.  
  
One evening, I came back to the common room when Rahab called me over to the table she shared with Rhiannon, Mason, and Menagerie. They were doing their nails and gossiping. "What's this I hear about you hanging around with some Gryffindor?" she demanded.  
  
"Not any Gryffindor," I answered. "Harry-'The-Boy-Who-Lived'-Potter."  
  
She frowned. "Why?"  
  
"Orders. My father wants an eye kept on him." Close enough. I never mentioned orders from my mother. Ever. It was only my father I talked about. All of Slytherin knew he was to be feared and respected for many reasons, that he ruled their own fathers, and that they better stay on his-- and therefore, my--good side.  
  
"I see."  
  
They did. Slytherin families all were very strictly run; no one in Slytherin wanted to directly disobey their parents. Although I eventually learned mine were worst--it took me 15 years to realize other parents didn't lock their kids in a dungeon cell with no food, light, or water, just to teach them about the enemy, or routinely put Forbidden Curses on them, just for spilling milk. Not even Slytherins.  
  
But I'm digressing.  
  
At the time, I was 11, and took their nodding in understanding as a given, and they did understand, and that was that.  
  
"We're playing strip poker with the Quidditch team tonight in the astronomy tower," Rhiannon told me with a grin. "So we're practicing up now, to make sure we win."  
  
I managed to hide my shock. "You're practicing your poker."  
  
"No--practicing cheating without being detected." The girls all laughed.  
  
I couldn't help smiling. "Good plan."  
  
"Stick around and watch if you want," Mason invited, eyeing me curiously.  
  
But I didn't. I went to my window.

-----------------------------------  
  
"Ah, I was hoping you'd turn up today, Draco. What's a rhyme for remain?" Ezekiel Black asked me from his portrait frame as soon as I emerged from the secret passage.  
  
"Pain," I replied automatically.  
  
"Hmm. And tiger?"  
  
"Um..." I had to think about that one. "Spider? Why her?"  
  
"Possibly, possibly..." he began scratching notes on one of the many pieces of parchment on his desk. "Do you write, young Malfoy?"  
  
I was taken aback. "No."  
  
"Why not?" He looked back up at me. "I think you'd be good at it."  
  
"Malfoys don't write poetry."  
  
"So then. Be a novelist. Write a book about spells. Whatever."  
  
"No profit in it." I could just imagine my father if I told him I had a burning desire to be a novelist. "I was punished enough for finger- painting."  
  
He gave me another long, searching look that made me want to fidget. "What do you want from life, boy?"  
  
"You're way too serious today, Zeke. I don't want to think that deep."  
  
"A career then."  
  
"I'll be managing the Malfoy estates, naturally." I didn't really want to think about all this.  
  
"Well, you are young yet," Ezekiel conceded at last.  
  
"I am." I waved and moved off to my window. "Lager almost rhymes with tiger," I yelled over my shoulder to him.  
  
I heard him laugh.  
  
I watched the sun set over the lake. The colours that day were amazing.  
  
My thoughts circled around in my head. Before I'd left the girls, they made me shuffle the cards for them, because their nails weren't dry yet. "You seem a likeable sort of boy," Mason had said as I was shuffling. "Flint regards you highly. So do R & R here." She pointed at her two friends, and then went back to waving her hands to speed up the drying process.  
  
"Thanks," I murmured, thinking, since she was only four years older than me, she didn't have to call me boy.  
  
Avril Menagerie regarded me. "Do you share your father's political views?"  
  
I almost dropped the cards, but recovered. "Malfoys have had the same opinions for generations. It would be rude of me to change them now."  
  
She smiled. "Always have an answer, don't you?"  
  
"Looks that way."  
  
"I wouldn't mind playing strip poker with you."  
  
"Avril!" Rahab and Rhiannon both cried, protective of me, I guess.  
  
"What? He's a Malfoy. He's quite a prize. You're used to girls flirting with you for your money, aren't you?"  
  
I suddenly didn't have an answer, but it was OK because she continued speaking. "I'm only fourth year and my blood's as pure as they come. I stand a legitimate chance. I'm getting my bid in early. Remember me." She winked.  
  
"I--definitely will," I said, hiding my nervousness. The other three girls stared at her, aghast. What could I do but ignore it? I offered her the cards. "Cut the deck?"  
  
She did so, then I gave them to Rahab to deal. "Good luck with your practicing, ladies," I said before rising.  
  
I rubbed my hand against the window pane. So I was a--a good catch. Well, I knew that. I'd never really thought about it before, though. I was still so young. Besides, Mother would arrange my marriage, so it didn't matter what I thought. And right now, I didn't want to think of anything.  
  
I leaned my head back and rested it on the wall. Why was life so hard? So complicated?  
  
I had to go back to the dorm soon, or miss curfew. Although Filch never seemed to come around here, I didn't want to take any chances. But before I returned, I needed to clear my mind of--everything.  
  
So I sat, and drown myself in the colours of the sunset, until it faded, and was gone.

------------------------------------  
  
Breakfast Thursday, Toad-boy got a Remberall by owl. I was walking by and saw it turn red. The boy was clueless. I came to a stop and grabbed it from his hand. "Where'd you get this?"  
  
He looked frightened, like he wanted to take it back but didn't dare. Potter and Weasley were looking at me.  
  
"My gran sent it," he stammered. "Cause--cause I forget things..."  
  
"Yes, I know." I tossed it from hand to hand, contemplating him. To my right, Weasley was starting to turn red again. "Here!" I threw it at him. He fumbled, but finally caught it inches from the floor.  
  
"Oops," I lied, "I didn't think you'd have problems catching it."  
  
"Leave him alone, Malfoy," Ron ordered.  
  
I looked over at him. "What? I'm having a perfectly nice conversation with Longbottom here. I don't see that it's any of your business. Weasley."  
  
I leant one hand on their table, just to see all the Gryffindors flinch-- probably afraid of Slytherin germs. "Flying lesson today, Potter," I said then.  
  
He went from looking concerned to looking excited. "Yeah."  
  
"Shall we impress the masses?"  
  
He half-grinned. "Let's just fly."  
  
I nodded. McGonagall was heading this way, time to leave.


End file.
